


my youth is yours.

by alicejericho



Series: wasting my young years. [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicejericho/pseuds/alicejericho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent spends the beginning of his summer with hockey prodigy/best friend Jack Zimmermann because they're young and they can and Kent likes getting free things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my youth is yours.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Troye Sivan’s “Youth” – listen to Blue Neighbourhood if you haven’t already.
> 
> Please excuse any errors, no one edited this.
> 
> Warnings for Kent being super unhappy with himself for being gay and swearing.

* * *

They’ve got time off. It’s the beginning of summer and they’ve got time off to do whatever the hell they please. And Kent has a lot of ideas. Ideas that could potentially get them into the news but ideas nonetheless.

The media’s prospects reports seem to forget that neither of them has even turned seventeen yet when they’re talking about what to expect in the years to come. It’s all pretty standard, Kent knows, but he’s still interested in being a dumb teenager while he’s still able.

Which is why he and hockey prodigy/best friend Jack Zimmermann are about to run amok all over Montreal – well, Kent is. Jack is more likely going to watch from a safe distance and fret about someone finding out and it ruining his fate in the draft.

“You’re going number one,” Kent will tell him. “Getting caught jaywalking isn’t going to stop that from happening.”

Jack will still look around extra carefully for police before he crosses the street.

Kent strikes gold when they stumble across an ice cream shop adorned with Habs paraphernalia. He pulls Jack in before he can protest and cheers inwardly when he is instantly recognised. At least he assumes that’s what happening - everyone is speaking Québécois French and the two years of French-French he did in middle school are useless – because there are some loud whispers from behind the counter before a man and woman in their forties rush around to the front.

Kent understands exactly two sets of words “oh mon dieu” and “Jack Zimmermann.” A third, “Bad Bob”, follows shortly after as they are being ushered towards a table.

“We’re getting free ice cream,” Jack states, sounding almost pained.

“Why aren’t you happy about that?” Kent asks, resisting the urge to kick his feet up onto the table and rest his hands behind his head. He might have a reputation as a show-boater but he likes to refrain from making Jack too uncomfortable. Making Jack too uncomfortable runs the risk of never hanging out with Jack again and thus never getting free ice cream again.

“They’re going to want a photo or an autograph or something.”

“It’s the least you can do for the mere mortals,” Kent says it as a joke but Jack doesn’t laugh. “Dude, it’s free ice cream. We’re in Habs territory, milk the Zimmermann name for what it’s worth.”

He locks his hands behind his head as a compromise.

Kent is slightly less happy when the owners return with their free ice cream and start gushing at _him_ in Québécois. Jack’s translations are half-assed but Kent gets that they know who he is and that they are watching him, too. He likes being recognised.

“They want a photo with both of us.”

Kent raises his chin, straightens his back and throws up a peace sign while Jack smiles awkwardly. It’ll probably be worth a lot of money in a few years.

“We hope you play for Montreal,” the man says slowly, thinking about each word before he says it.

Jack nods tightly. Kent nods enthusiastically – he groans when they’ve left the shop. “Over my dead body am I playing for the Habs.”

* * *

Kent is eating a chocolate bar that he got free without Jack’s help. Jack refused to go into Couche-Tard because Kent wasn’t hiding how excited he was to use Jack’s celebrity – and also his looks, because, honestly, puberty was very kind to Jack. It doesn’t bother Kent too much because the server turned out to be a young and interested female and Kent knows how to flirt even when he’s not interested.

“You don’t like being Bad Bob’s son?” Kent asks, biting into his chocolate bar and handing one to Jack.

Jack takes his time opening the wrapper before he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Kent and Jack might be best friends but there are a lot of things they haven’t talked about and that’s primarily because Jack doesn’t speak very much. Kent understands, though. He’s thought a lot about what it would be like to grow up the son of an NHL legend.

“You’re not just here because you’re a Zimmermann,” he says firmly. “There’s no fucking way you’d be here if you couldn’t actually play hockey.”

Jack seems to appreciate it because his shoulders relax and he actually starts to eat his chocolate. Except that he remains silent for nearly two minutes before he asks, just as lowly and possibly more dejectedly, “What if I don’t live up to the hype?”

Kent’s eyes widen a little because the question is ridiculous. He knows that Jack has never seen himself play in person – because out of body experiences are full of shit and physically impossible – but he’s seen himself play on tapes and _he’s Jack fucking Zimmermann._

“You live up to the hype. Believe me.”

Jack doesn’t have time to respond – not that he looked like he was going to, anyway – because a girl is walking towards them.

“Do you guys speak English?”

“Sure do,” Kent answers happily, laughing when the girl sighs with relief.

“Oh, thank god. Nobody around here was willingly to even try and I am so fucking lost right now.”

“Where do you need to be?”

The girl, who looks roughly eighteen, stands beside him and holds out her tourist map. She points at a corner and Kent take a few seconds to look around them to find any helpful signs.

Kent nudges Jack with his elbow. ”Zimms, a little help?”

Jack points at a spot on the map almost instantly and mumbles something in French.

“She’s asking for English instructions.”

Jack continues speaking in French.

“I think your friend is broken,” the girl says, her brow furrowing as she takes in Jack’s expression. Kent can see that he looks nervous, he’s not sure if the girl can.

“Yeah, seems to be a defect. I’ll go return him,” Kent says, nudging Jack again. “If his fingers work okay then you’re here and it shouldn’t take you too long.”

“Thank you. I hope they give you your money back.”

“Me too,” Kent laughs, elbowing Jack once more, “he’s worth quite a bit.”

Jack comes alive again when the girl has started to walk away. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk to them?”

“‘Them’?” Kent guffaws. “Zimms, you’re nearly seventeen.”

“You just talked to her like it was nothing.”

“It was nothing. She was asking for directions not offering to suck my dick.” Although, he wouldn’t have lost his cool over that anyway. “Did you really forget how to speak English?”

“Everything was just coming out in French. I couldn’t stop it.”

“You malfunctioned.”

“What?”

“You’re the hockey robot, right? You malfunctioned in an everyday scenario. I guess it must be true.”

“Girls that hot aren’t an everyday scenario.”

Kent shoves the rest of the chocolate into his mouth so that he doesn’t sigh at how Jack’s eyes follow the girl as she turns the corner.

* * *

“When will your parents be home?”

“Not until later. After midnight.”

“Fucking sweet!” Kent shouts, gripping his shirt at the back of his neck and pulling it over his head. “Put on some music!” He calls out as he’s shucking his shoes and socks on his way out the backdoor.

By the time he’s standing at the edge of the pool he’s down to his boxers. It takes him three seconds to have them off and thrown haphazardly by some deck chairs an then he let’s out a primal yell as he jumps into the air, spins and flips Jack off all before he’s in the water. When he rises Jack is staring at him bewildered.

“What are you doing?”

“Skinny dipping.”

“It’s just us two,” Jack says. “Isn’t that a little gay?”

Kent shrugs it off even if his stomach is churning. “I don’t have anything else to wear and I think it’s gayer if I go home in your clothes.”

Jack seems to take that as an acceptable answer but he doesn’t show any signs of de-clothing himself. Kent says nothing and instead dives under the water and stares there for as long as he can.

He thinks he might have gone a step too far, that Jack might know he is actually gay and that their friendship is over and that there will be no more Zimmermann-Parson no-look one-timers which means that Kent’s chances of going anything better than number twenty in the draft have been shot to hell and that he might actually have to play for Montreal or worse he could be drafted to fucking Florida or something or he might not even be drafted at all because what if not being able to play on the same line as Jack means he just stops getting games which is the absolute worst because hockey is sort of the only thing he’s-

He’s being grabbed by the arm and hoisted towards the surface. He breathes quickly, his chest aching, when he breaks through. The grip on his arm doesn’t loosen.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Jack asks, his breathing erratic, too, but it’s obviously from panic and not because he was holding his breath underwater - his eyes keep flickering over every inch of Kent’s face and he still hasn’t let go of his arm. “You drowning in my pool would definitely stop me from being drafted.”

“Sorry,” Kent apologises. “I was just thinking.”

“Try to do that where you can breathe,” Jack retorts exasperatedly, finally letting go of Kent’s arm to push the wet hair out of his face. “That’d be great.”

Kent pushes his own hair from his face and then promptly remembers that he’s actually naked in Jack Zimmermann’s pool.

“I should put some clothes on,” he says hastily. “Just look away for like, ten seconds,” he tells Jack as he walks towards the stairs.

Jack is hoisting himself onto the edge of the pool and not looking so Kent makes a fun for his boxers. He’s fumbling around with them, trying to pull them up his wet legs, when he hears a splash. He looks back over his shoulder to see a pile of wet clothes on the side of the pool. When Jack’s head breaks through the water and it settles he can see that Jack has embraced the skinny dipping. Kent abandons his boxers and runs - much to Jack’s horror - around the side of the pool before he jumps in, landing right beside Jack.

Kent actively spends as much time on the opposite side of the pool as Jack as possible without drawing attention to it. He hates himself for suggesting such a dumb idea and he hates Jack a little for going along with it.

There are a lot of factors that go into what happens next: Kent has been spending most of the day thinking that Jack looked really good in the forest green polo he was wearing, Kent has spent the past half an hour trying very hard to not look under the water at Jack’s cock and Jack is blatantly staring at Kent’s. Despite that, Jack is surprised when Kent’s lips are pressed hard against his.

Kent pulls away as quickly as he moved in and mimics, unknowingly, Jack’s frozen, wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression.

“I didn’t – _fuck_ – Zimms, that wasn’t – I didn’t mean to – I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Oh,” Jack mutters, taking a step backwards. His eyes return to their usual state of sad, lonely and uncertain. “Right, yeah. Accident.”

“I didn’t want to skinny dip just to see you naked,” Kent adds quickly. “I just like, had never done it before and, well, yeah. I don’t want to make things weird.” He takes a deep breath. “Make things gay.”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

“ _Fuck_. Dude, I’ll reel it in. I’ll control myself. I’ll – I don’t know – just don’t hate me.”

Jack’s silence hurts Kent in places he didn’t know he could hurt. Every part of body aches at the thought of losing Jack as a friend all because he couldn’t control himself. Jack moves to get out of the pool and looks back over his shoulder quickly; Kent turns away immediately because it’s already weird it doesn’t need to get weirder.

They head inside after they’ve struggled back into their clothes and they don’t talk about it as they sit on the couch in the Zimmermann’s rumpus room.

“Did you think she was hot?” Jack asks out of the blue. “The girl with the map?”

“Um, she was attractive, I guess,” Kent answers hesitantly. “Not really my type. You think she was?”

“I forgot how to speak English,” Jack deadpans and Kurt laughs, despite the ache he still felt. “What’s your type?”

“Dude,” Kent says tightly, his head lolling back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “We weren’t going to make this weird.”

“It’s not going to make it weird. Just tell me.”

Kent looks Jack right in the eye and sets his jaw. “Fine. Let’s make this really fucking gay. You. You are my type.”

“So, before in the pool… That wasn’t an accident?”

“Of course it was a fucking accident. Do I like the idea of kissing you while we’re naked? Yes. Did I mean to do it? No. Because it made it gay and weird.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s a fucking terrible thing.”

“It’s not.”

Kent exhales and shakes his head, finally looking away from Jack. He’s spent the past couple of years imagining how this conversation would play out. In his imagination some people hate him without even thinking about it and other people try and act like it’s not freaking them out – Jack is falling into the latter category.

He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and sinks down further into the couch until his chin is pressed up against his chest. There’s some news program on the television and, even though it’s being reported in Québécois, he is intent on watching it. At least until Jack’s hand is resting on his knee.

“Dude,” Kent says in a breathe. “How weird do you want to make this?”

Jack squeezes Kent’s leg. “Weirder.”

Kent turns his head and Jack is looking at him softly so Kent sits up a little and Jack removes his hand. He then leans forward and Kent is feels much the same as Jack must have earlier when their lips brush. He unfreezes a lot quicker than Jack had and kisses back while he runs his fingers through the curls at the base of Jack’s neck.

“Weirder is good.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is a half-finished second part to this. It might or might not be up tomorrow. It'll be called "i sold my yesterdays to you."  
> Follow me on[tumblr](theonlymonsterisme.tumblr.com)?


End file.
